


Prisoner

by MinWin



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:53:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29451861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinWin/pseuds/MinWin
Summary: angsty story I'm writing about a boy who gets caught up in crime syndicate dealings. unlikely to be updated much but dkfjgkdh here u go
Kudos: 1





	Prisoner

“Hey.”

Caenan raised his head from his knees when he heard the voice. His door opened a crack, and he saw his superior’s face through it.

“Boss says the kid’s out of time. Time for you to do your job.”

Caenan dropped his chin back onto his knees. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

The door opened a little more, and Caenan flinched as the light fell across his face.

His superior walked in and crouched in front of him. “You don’t have time for one of your ‘episodes’ right now. Boss expects punctuality of all of us, and that includes you. Get your ass up.”

Caenan closed his fists, grabbing and pulling his hair until his scalp hurt. He took a deep breath, relaxed, and stood. “Fine. Lead the way.”

The man tilted his head. “Your knives.”

Caenan stiffened for a moment. “Right. I almost forgot.” He walked to his bedside table, opened the drawer, and lifted out a makeshift holster that housed two different knives. He clipped it around his thigh, the weight against his leg simultaneously comforting and unnerving. 

His superior looked him over for a moment before nodding and turning down the hall. Caenan reluctantly followed.

He knew exactly where he was going. He’d gone countless times before, though he had never been allowed into that level of the Den without an escort. Even after two years, he wasn’t a trusted member. Not that he blamed them. If there was a large enough chance for him to escape unscathed, he would certainly take it. As it was, he was fairly sure he wasn’t even allowed to walk outside of the Den without an escort. He hadn’t tried.

After a couple of stairway descents, they stopped in front of a large iron door. His superior turned to him and nodded, indicating that he was to go in alone.

Caenan reached out and pulled the cold metal handle.

Inside was a concrete hallway, lined on either side with similar metal doors as the first. A guard stood at a door halfway down the hallway on the left, and Caenan made his way down to it, shivering in the damp. This was his least favorite place in the Den. When he arrived at the door, the guard opened the door and stepped aside.

Taking a deep breath, Caenan entered.

This cell was structured much the same as all the others around it, with iron bars running roughly across the middle, a gate, and the furnishings of the average jail cell inside. Seated on the bed was a young man who couldn’t have been any older than Caenan himself. _And he won’t get any older_ , he thought.

There were two other people in the room besides Caenan and the prisoner. A guard leaned against the wall, but he wasn’t the presence concerning Caenan. No, what set him on edge was the boss himself, Ulner, standing in front of the bars and staring in at the prisoner.

Ulner turned when he heard the door open and smiled at Caenan, vividly reminding him of an alligator. 

“Ah, good, you’re here,” Ulner said. “I trust you know what it is you need to do?”

“Disposal,” Caenan said quietly, hoping to spare the prisoner at least a few seconds of worry. He must not have spoken quietly enough, however, as the prisoner glanced up at him and then quickly back down, looking considerably more tense.

Ulner nodded in consideration. “Yes, though I want you to be a bit more... _precise_ with this one. We’ve got bids on some parts.”

He’d heard similar things countless times before, but it never failed to send a cold chill down his spine. He glanced at the prisoner again. _Parts._ He pulled out the longer of the two knives, focusing on the cold steel beneath his fingers to ground himself. It was eerie to think that once, that might have been him. _But it’s not,_ he thought, and gripped the knife tighter.

“Ready?” Ulner asked, still watching the prisoner. 

Caenan nodded, and the guard unlocked the door and allowed Caenan to slip through, locking it again behind him.

The prisoner didn’t look up as Caenan approached. He hated that reaction. He’d been jumped before by prisoners, but if they were looking at him he could at least see it coming in their expression. Prisoners that refused to look at him were always a gamble.

For a moment, Caenan just stood there as he contemplated what to do. Ulner had said “precise.” What would be the lowest-struggle way out of this...?

As Caenan was contemplating where to aim, the prisoner launched himself forward, tackling Caenan to the ground.

He landed nearly flat on his back and felt the air rush out of his lungs. In the next second, however, he felt the prisoner wrap his hands around his neck. _Fuck._ He struggled to regain his breath, but with the hands tightening around his throat, it certainly wasn’t easy. He pushed up against the prisoner with his free hand, but the hands remained in a steadfast, iron grip. As dark spots began to appear in his vision, he realized that at this rate, the prisoner would be more likely to crush his larynx completely than release him.

He made his decision. Still breathless, Caenan lifted the knife and plunged it where he hoped the prisoner’s neck was.

Simultaneously, the pressure around his throat released and he felt a warm splatter across his face and chest. Caenan sucked in a deep breath. As the spots cleared from his vision, he saw the prisoner crawling backwards away from him, cradling his neck where Caenan’s blade was buried. He was losing blood quickly...but not fast enough. He would suffer for several minutes at least before dying.

Caenan walked over and knelt in front of the prisoner. Unable to speak, his eyes were wide as he looked up at Caenan.

He held his hand out. “You’re already dead. Let me make it quick.”

For a moment, the prisoner didn’t move. A whimper rose from his throat as he closed his eyes in submission. 

Caenan grasped the handle of the knife, now somewhat slick with blood, and ripped it toward him, creating an enormous gash in the prisoner’s neck. He turned his face away, but wasn’t quick enough to avoid the initial spray of blood. It fell, thick and hot, over his cheek, his eye, the corner of his mouth. 

Caenan stood and watched as the puddle of blood grew beneath the former prisoner. Before all of this, he never thought he would have seen so much blood in person. He turned to Ulner and pocketed his blade, to be cleaned at a later time.

The guard unlocked the door and opened it to allow Caenan out.

“Job’s done, sir,” he mumbled, his voice hoarser than when he had entered the cell.

Ulner alligator-smiled again. “Wonderfully done. Wish you’d been more careful about the neck, but I suppose you could only have done so much. You’re free to leave; go get cleaned up.”

“Yes, sir,” Caenan said, and left the cell. 

He had never needed an escort _back_ to his room. They probably thought him too drained or too cowed to attempt anything after carrying out his job. He used his sleeve to wipe some of the blood away from his mouth. Well, they were right. Every time, all he wanted to do was curl up in the corner of his room and try to convince himself he wasn’t a murderer. Or, at least, not like the rest of them.

He was rarely successful.

The disgusted and shocked expressions he got on his way back told him that he looked a lot worse than he thought. He stretched his shirt in front of him to get a better look, and sure enough, there was a large spray of blood on it. 

Someone saw him inspecting himself and pointed in the general direction of the showers. “You’ll definitely want to clean up. It’s worse than you think.”

Gods. Worse than he thinks? Idly, he thought about hitting his head on the wall a couple times, but likely he would just make a bloodstain on the wall that he would later be tasked with cleaning, so he decided against it. He stopped briefly at his room to retrieve a towel, soap, and a change of clothes before making his way to the showers.


End file.
